When Heros Hurt
by chronicler-of-knuckles
Summary: Ezra gets in over his head. But can the guys pull him back before it's too late? (anwer to a challenge, should it be expanded into a full story?)
1. 1

TITLE: When Heroes Hurt  
  
AUTHOR: The Chronicler  
  
CHALLENGE: Intervention  
  
UNIVERSE: ATF  
  
RATED: PG-13  
  
SUMMARY: Ezra gets in over his head. But can the guys pull him back before it's too late?  
  
NOTES: Though this was a quick 15min. answer to the W.O.W. challenge, I was wondering if it might be worth expanding into a longer story.  
  
FEEDBACK: Pretty please.  
  
ARCHIVE: Yes, yup, you bet.  
  
EMAIL: chronicler_of_knuckles@yahoo.com  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Heroes Hurt  
  
By The Chronicler  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
How did this happen? Happen to him?  
  
Always in control, always smooth, always with an ace up his sleeve, always with a way out. He was the best, damn undercover man ATF had... hell, that anyone had ever had!  
  
Sure, the pressure was enormous, but he could handle it.   
  
Going under for days, weeks even. Changing names and characteristics as often as he changed socks. Damn, he had a calendar on the fridge to remind him of just who he was supposed to be from one day to the next.  
  
He opened doors, got inside, struck at the core of the bad guys. He was the greatest fear of every crime organization in the world: He's the guy they shouldn't of trusted.  
  
So...  
  
How could this have happened to him, Ezra P. Standish?!  
  
It was that damn bullet! The one that had torn through his shoulder. It was then that they had given him the pills.   
  
Harmless looking little things, capsule shape, pink. Almost look like they should be threaded and worn around the neck.  
  
Only a couple at first. Just enough to dull the pain.  
  
But he was the only one who could close up the bust. The bad guys knew only him, or at least the character he had been playing. They trusted him. If he had just dropped of the radar, they'd never get this close again.  
  
Chris had said he didn't care, that'd they'd find some other way. That his man was too hurt, in too much pain...  
  
So, Ezra took more of those little, itty-bitty, pain-go-away pills... and the pain did go away. Just a few more pills... just a few...  
  
Just enough to get the job done.  
  
But that bad guy rolled on another. And, again, Ezra went to work.  
  
And then that bad guy rolled, and then another, and then another...  
  
Take it from Ezra P Standish... Honor among thieves? HA!  
  
And the jobs just kept coming, and Ezra had to keep on doing his thing. And the pills...  
  
Those pretty little pills...  
  
Those damn little pills...  
  
Those fucking, damn, little pills...  
  
... just kept coming.  
  
Not that anyone noticed. Sure they knew he was on pain killers. But they also knew that Ezra didn't like to be obvious about his weaknesses. So, when they didn't see him taking them, they just assumed that he was doing so in private. And, when the time came three months earlier, they just assumed he stopped taking them.  
  
After all, he was Ezra P Standish, confidence man extrordinair!  
  
So what if he was short tempered? So what if he wasn't getting any sleep? So what if he walked about numb from his head right down to his toes? So what if he leaped right into danger as if he was indestructible?  
  
Hey, damn it all to hell, HE WAS EZRA P. STANDISH!  
  
Those damn sharp eyes of that damn, curiose little boy! John Daniel Dunne! Always watching him with those big hazel eyes, studding him, memorizing every move. He was the first to make note in the changes of their undercover man. Kid had been a narcotics officer way back when... well, as far way back as the kid went. He knew the signs. And he saw the signs in Ezra.   
  
Damn, why did it have to be the kid? J.D. looked up to him. He looked up to all the others on the team, but it meant more to Ezra. No one had ever looked up to him like that before. Hell, who wants a con artist as a role model? But J.D. did look up to him.   
  
And what did Ezra show him?   
  
Showed the kid that even Heroes could screw up.  
  
And what did J.D. do when he found out? He told Chris, of course.   
  
And what did Chris do?  
  
Well, after Ezra quite when Chris confronted him in a heated yelling match, Chris went to extremes.  
  
Kidnaped from his own apartment by his own coworkers, his damn so-called friends, Ezra P. Standish came face to face with ATF Team 7's version of Intervention.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~ 


	2. 2

TITLE: When Heroes Hurt  
  
CHAPTER: Two  
  
AUTHOR: The Chronicler  
  
UNIVERSE: ATF  
  
RATING: PG-13 (harsh language, tough topic)  
  
COMMENTS: The continuation of an answer to a W.O.W. Challenge: Intervention  
  
FEEDBACK: please!  
  
EMAIL: chronicler_of_knuckles@yahoo.com  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Heroes Hurt  
  
By The Chronicler  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Two...  
  
He knew.  
  
He had seen the signs, understood what they meant. He knew what was happening... knew what would happen. He knew what he had to do, what they all would have to do.  
  
But he had refused to believe it.  
  
How could it be true?  
  
It couldn't be true, could it?  
  
What if he was wrong?  
  
But he wasn't wrong!  
  
He knew that too.  
  
Frustrated, young J.D. Dunne lurched to his feet and began to pace.  
  
He wasn't wrong, damn it! He knew what he saw!  
  
Ezra Standish, the man who always found an advantage, could always win, could come up aces even after the worse of it...... had fallen to something as simple and little and insignificant looking as a tiny, pink pill. He was hooked on drugs.  
  
"Agent J.D. Dunne!" Chris Larabee snapped, yanking his office door open.  
  
Startled, J.D. spun about. "What?!" he snapped right back.  
  
Every man in the office stopped, shocked that J.D. would snap at Chris... that anyone would snap at Chris and hope to continue breathing.  
  
Chris' eyes narrowed. "Get in here! Now!" he growled, low and dangerously. Not waiting to see if the boy would follow, he turned and walked back into his office.  
  
With a sigh, J.D. dropped his head.  
  
"Hey, kid, you okay?" Buck wanted to know in hushed tones.  
  
"Ask me if I walk out of there." J.D. mumbled back. Dragging his feet, he found his way into his boss' office.  
  
"Close the door." Chris ordered, not bothering to look up from the paper he was reading as he sat on the corner of his desk. He waited until he heard the click of the door closing, before looking up at his youngest agent. "Were you digging a moat around my door?" he wondered.  
  
J.D. frowned. "Huh?"  
  
"You've spent the better part of three days pacing outside my door." Chris set the paper down. "You are either digging a moat or you really want to tell me something."  
  
J.D. hung his head.  
  
Chris sighed. "What's Buck into this time?"  
  
"Buck?" J.D. glanced up, wondering how his roommate and partner got into this conversation. "Oh... Oh, no! Not Buck! I mean Buck is probably into something. He always is... but not this time. I mean he's not what I'm buggin' about... I mean..."  
  
Chris held up his hand.   
  
J.D. snapped his mouth shut.  
  
"What, J.D., are you `buggin'' about?" Chris asked in slow, careful tone, realizing that the kid really was buggin'.  
  
J.D. stared at him, his mouth open just slightly as if he wanted to say something, but he just couldn't quite get the words out.  
  
Now Chris was worried. A speechless J.D.? Usually only happens when he unconscious.  
  
He rose to his feet, stepped up to the window to the outside office, where the other five members of team Seven were watching them intently, and closed the blinds. Then he stepped up to stand directly in front of his man. "Okay, kid, between you and me: what's up?"  
  
J.D. took a shaky breath. "You... you know Ezra's been kinda fidgety lately?"  
  
Chris nodded slightly. "He's been off lately, but he's been under a lot of pressure last couple of months. We all have. Been busy." he admitted.  
  
But J.D. went on. "Short temper. Snapping a lot. No patients. Jumping in before anyone else is ready. Beating the crap out of perps."  
  
"Perp... One perp. And the bad guy threw the first punch." Chris protested.   
  
J.D.'s eyes narrowed, and he frowned.  
  
"Okay, it was out of character and he's lucky he still has his badge." the elder admitted. "Go on."  
  
J.D. started to pace. "He's losing weight, isn't eating. Seen his eyes? He isn't sleeping. He's had six traffic tickets in the last month alone."  
  
"Wait a minute!" Up came Chris' hand. "You checked up on him?"  
  
But now he was talking, he wasn't shutting up. "His mail is stacking up. His hair is getting a little long. He forgot to pay is cable bill. His shoes weren't polished."  
  
"J.D.!" Chris snapped, silencing him. "His shoes?"  
  
J.D. blinked.  
  
"Please tell me there is a point to this other than you have been sticking your nose where it does not..." Chris stopped, looking down at what his agent was holding out to him.   
  
It was a tiny baggy with tiny, little pink pills.  
  
Chris took a deep breath and held it. "Where did those come from?" he asked in an all too calm voice.  
  
"Last week, remember? Ezra started to get rough with that guy and I grabbed him? Pulled him off?" J.D. nodded to the pills. "Those fell out of his jacket." He looked away for a moment, then looked directly at Chris, locking eyes. "I was in narcotics, Chris. I know what an addiction looks like." He paused. "I know when I'm lookin' at one."  
  
Chris eyed him for a long silent time, judging his man, his skill, and his belief in what he was saying. Coming to a conclusion, Chris dropped back against his desk with a heavy sigh. "Damn."  
  
"I'm sorry." J.D. mumbled, dropping his eyes.  
  
Chris shook his head. "You caught it. You didn't start it." He rubbed his hands over his face. "Damn." he breathed again. Then he looked at J.D.. "Alright. Now what do we do? Take his badge? His gun?" He shook his head. "Damn."  
  
"You don't have to do that." J.D. said quickly. When Chris frowned at him, he added "Not yet anyway."  
  
"I have a doped up cop, J.D.. What am I supposed to do with him?" he demanded.  
  
"It isn't that unusual for undercover guys to get in over their heads."  
  
"Yea, and backup comes swooping in and shoot the bad guy before they put another hole in said undercover guy. Just who do you suggest I shoot?"  
  
"Back in Boston this one guy, he was a good cop, got hooked while undercover." J.D. started to pace again, waving his hands about. "A couple of his buddies snatched him up, took him out in the middle of nowhere for a couple of weeks and got him clean. It was rough. Withdraw really tore him down to nothing. But, after a couple of days clean, they started working on this and that and... you know, built him up again." J.D. shrugged. "He was okay after that."  
  
"Cured him?"  
  
J.D. glanced sharply at Chris. "It's an addiction, Chris. It doesn't get cured. You either get strong and learn to go without, or you die." He gave a big shrug, swinging his hands up. "Die, one way or another. OD in some cold apartment or back alley. Take on the wrong perp. Put a bullet through the brain."  
  
"I get it." Chris cut him off with a wave of his hand. "You are suggesting that we get him clean? Keep it off the record, try to save his career?"  
  
"Intervention."  
  
"What?"  
  
J.D. rubbed the back of his neck. "They call it Intervention."  
  
"Okay... Intervention." Chris tilted his head to one side. "And if it doesn't work?"  
  
The boy sighed. "It's a one shot deal. It works the first time or it doesn't. And it goes on the record and he loses his career and, probably, everything else."  
  
"Okay." Chris ran his fingers through his hair. He licked his lips. "Go back to your desk, J.D. Stay calm, stay cool, keep it to yourself. And ask Ezra to come in."  
  
"You're gonna talk to him?" J.D.'s eyes went big.  
  
"I am not going to `snatch' him without first talking to him." Chris answered with a growl. "Now get going. And bury your nose in paper work. If need be, I want to close shop starting in two days."  
  
Assured by the promise of action, J.D. gave him a quick, sharp nod, then headed for the door. But he stopped, his hand on the knob. "Chris?"  
  
"Yea?"  
  
Not daring to look at him, J.D. asked "What if I'm wrong?"  
  
"John... look at me."  
  
J.D. looked up at him with big, frighten eyes.  
  
Chris caught his agent's eyes with his own. "Are you wrong?"   
  
Those frighten eyes lasted for half a breath, before suddenly snapping with clear determination and self assurance. He spoke with a strong voice when he answered: "No, I am not wrong."  
  
Chris nodded once. "Get going."  
  
"Yes, sir." And J.D. left the room.  
  
Chris sighed. "Intervention." he mumbled to himself. With a smile that held absolutely no amusement at all, he added "Team Seven style."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~ 


End file.
